Aftermath and Awakenings
by Aira
Summary: The gang returns to Hogwarts to find new challenges, unusual situations, and relationships.
1. Changing Seasons

Author's note: This is the first installment of a series that follows "Corresponding Thoughts." Please read that first, as this will make infinitely more sense. To those of you who have read CT, this begins where that one left off. The beginning is a bit draggy, but that's necessary for later on developments, so my apologies. Thank you and enjoy.  
  
Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira   
  
***  
  
Ron Weasley stared at the letter in his hands, and re-read it for the tenth time that evening. He felt like the most idiotic person on earth while doing it, but he had to be sure that the words he saw really existed, and were not just what he wanted to exist. But, no, after reading those beautiful, beautiful words eleven times it was painfully obvious that this was one of the few times in life where dreams and reality coincide.  
  
Just as Ron was about to make it an even dozen by reading the letter yet again, a figure appeared at the door. "Ginny!" He sputtered in a hasty attempt to hide the letter. "What're you doing here?"  
  
"I live here?" Ginny retorted without hesitation. While her infatuation with Harry might give one the delusion that she was nothing more than a giggly schoolgirl, in reality she was very quick-witted while not in Harry's presence.   
  
Ron mumbled an apology and then gestured towards the door pointedly. His sister, however, didn't budge, but merely said, "Your Royal Majesty, I so humbly beg of you to forgive my shortcomings. However, as dinner is being served, I thought it such a tragedy if you didn't grace our meek little family with your exquisite presence. So forgive me, King Ronald, for not wanting to see your divine self perish for lack of food, because that would be just so catastrophic."  
  
Ron opened his mouth to make a witty comeback, but quickly shut it when he couldn't think of one. Half of his brain was still on the letter that his bed covers now shielded, which left little room for sarcasm. Ginny, meanwhile, only smiled sweetly, though the sardonic edge could not be missed. "Apologies for disrupting your Majesty, though you'd be advised to know that your potatoes are growing cold."  
  
She left without another word, leaving Ron to his very dazed thoughts.  
  
*  
  
"Well look at who finally decided to join us," was Fred's response to Ron's entrance.  
  
"Shut up," was the most creative reply Ron could think of.  
  
Fred looked like he was about to say something more, but he was quickly silenced by a look from Mrs. Weasley. "Where were you, Ron dear?" she questioned briskly. "I'd have thought you'd want to know who Dumbledore's named as Minister!"  
  
For the first time since receiving Hermione's letter earlier that afternoon, Ron expressed interest in something other than his mail. "Who then?"  
  
"Arabella Figg," his father replied. "Brilliant old witch. She's Dumbledore's good friend. He's quoted as saying that she'll be a fine Minister of Magic, etc, etc. Doubtless she'll handle the current…situation better than Fudge did."  
  
There was a murmur of agreement around the table, and within a few minutes the regular strained attempts at normal conversation continued as George talked animatedly about a new top-secret invention; Mrs. Weasley had long since stopped caring about the twins' plan to open a joke shop.   
  
Lost in his own world though he was, Ron couldn't help but notice that the tension in the air was considerably less. No doubt that had to do with the relief that there was now a competent Minister to deal with the threat posed by the Dark Side. Just like Hermione said, he thought with awe. Time to look towards the future.  
  
*  
  
A few days later, the excitement of Hermione's letter had died down considerably, and Ron snapped back into his usual personality. Glad though he was that the feelings he had were mutual, once he had regained his common sense he saw plainly that he couldn't let that dominate his life. Like everything else, this was one thing that was just going to have to be taken one step at a time.  
  
Admittedly, Ron had spent considerably more time than necessary composing a reply to Hermione. After an hour (and many crumpled pieces of parchment), he opted for a simple and frank message:  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I wish I could say everything I want to say to you in this letter, but I've never been particulary good with words. We can talk when you get here. Speaking of which: we can pick you up next Sunday at 7:00. With Floo Powder, of course. You don't have an eceltic fire like Harry's, do you? Well, see you then.  
  
Yours,  
Ron  
  
Though dissatisfied with the fact that the letter was purely non-personal, Ron sent it, along with a letter for Harry:  
  
Harry,  
  
You can come! Dad will Apparate to your place with a Portkey leading here at around 5:00 Monday. (Told you we wouldn't use Floo Powder.) Send a note back with Pig if that's all right. Oh, and in case Sirius hasn't gotten to you yet, Arabella Figg's Minister. See you soon!  
  
Ron  
PS: I kind of have something important to tell you when you get here.  
  
The P.S. had been cause for much internal debate. Ron wasn't quite sure what the thing between him and Hermione was, or if it even was a thing, but he felt like keeping it to himself for a while. Still, Harry was his other best friend. If anyone figured it out, it would be him. Better to just come clean with it; he'd be hurt if neither of them said anything to him, and that was the very last thing either Ron or Hermione wanted to do right now.  
  
On a different level, Ron was simply aching for somebody to share his feelings with. Though not by nature a person who was open about emotions, his mind was too full of them to be able to keep them to himself. To a certain extent, Ron was anticipating Harry's arrival not only to see his friend, but to be able to lift a few weights off his chest.  
  
Ron just sighed. Sunday night couldn't come soon enough for him.  
  
*  
  
Hermione Granger was not one to be hoodwinked. Perhaps her perceptiveness was overlooked by her studious nature, but in reality she was very shrewd when it came to figuring out what people meant by their words and actions. Ron's letter was no exception. The casual tone of the letter didn't fool her for an instant. She also knew, however, that trying to work out their newly found feelings through owl post wouldn't work out. He was right: they needed to talk face-to-face. Chewing on the end of her quill, Hermione wrote a reply in flowering script:  
  
Dear Ron,  
  
I agree: we definitely need to talk in person. And we will. Sunday night is fine for picking me up, and no, we do not have an ELECTRIC fire.   
  
With Love From,  
Hermione  
  
PS: When's Harry coming?  
  
Satisfied, Hermione tied the note to Pig's free talon-he was carrying another letter-and wondered how it was possible to look towards Sunday with both giddy excitement and undeniable dread.  
  
*  
  
The dream came again. As real as it always was. The boy called Harry Potter tossed and turned in his sleep. Wake up! Wake up! He pleaded silently. But he never could. Not until the dream was over.  
  
With a gust of cold air, Harry felt his body give way as he landed on hard rock. Trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his leg, he asked Cedric where they were. But he only shook his head as both boys glanced around at their surroundings. It was quite obvious they had left Hogwarts; how far away was anyone's guess. The castle and its surrounding mountains were nowhere in view. Instead, Harry found himself looking at the outline of a small church. Surrounding it were graves with moss sprawled all over. They were in a graveyard, Harry realized. But how? And why?  
  
To their left loomed a hill, on top of which the outline of a large old house was just barely visible in the darkness. "Wands out d'you reckon?" came Cedric's voice.  
  
Harry heard himself murmur agreement as they both pulled out their wands and continued to watch in silence. "Someone's coming," Harry said suddenly.  
  
Indeed, a short person could be seen walking towards them through the graves. His face was hidden with a hooded cloak, but he appeared as though he was carrying something of great importance. The figure stopped before a lofty marble headstone, not more than six feet between Harry and Cedric.   
  
All of a sudden, a searing pain ripped through Harry's scar. His wand slipped from his fingers as he collapsed to the ground, the anguish too much for him to bear. He felt as though his entire head was on fire. Then, Harry heard a shrill, cold voice that seemed to come from elsewhere: "Kill the spare."  
  
Then came the words of another voice. "Avada Kedavra."  
  
Though terrified over what he might see, Harry mustered up the courage to open his eyes. He stared into the lifeless face of Cedric Diggory…  
  
"No!" Harry screamed into the night air of Number Four, Privet Drive. His sheets had been tossed on the floor, sweat marked his pillows, and now cold tears ran down his cheeks.  
  
"Oh, God," Harry murmured, glancing out at the pitch-black sky. He could only hope he hadn't woken the Dursleys. The very thought of explaining his nightmares about Cedric and Voldemort to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was, at best, laughable. But no, he realized. If he'd woken them, they'd have gone rampaging into his room before now.  
  
Harry closed his eyes and wished he could just block out the events and pretend they had never happened. Unfortunately, he knew better. Lord Voldemort was back, and he and the rest of the wizarding world would just have to cope with that.  
  
At least there was now a competent Minister of Magic running things now, Harry thought, his thoughts turning back to the letter he had just received from Sirius. To be sure, his godfather had described Arabella Figg as a "boring old witch-but devilishly clever. If anyone other than Dumbledore can handle the situation, she can. She's a retired Auror, actually."  
  
That was good enough for Harry. Dull or not, anyone capable of responding to the threat posed by Voldemort had Harry's seal of approval. He could only hope that it would be enough to stop the Dark Lord from doing more damage than he had already caused.  
  
A sudden tap at the window put an end to Harry's rather morbid thoughts. "Pig!" Harry exclaimed when he saw what it was. "Have you got something from Ron for me?"  
  
Sure enough, no sooner did Harry open the window than did Pig drop a note in Ron's familiar scrawl. He quickly read it, a ghost of a grin working it's way across his face. Ron had said that Mr. Weasley would pick him up on Monday; today was Saturday. He wouldn't have to endure the Dursleys much longer. This had the prospect of lightning Harry's mood considerably. Though images from his earlier nightmare still tried to creep their way into his thoughts, he quickly blocked them out by thinking about staying at the Burrow.  
  
The P.S. in Ron's letter did strike him as odd, however. "I kind of have something important to tell you"? It wasn't like Ron to withhold information like that; it must really be something important. Harry immediately thought of Voldemort, but then realized that Ron wouldn't wait to tell him something so vital. So it had to be something different. All sorts of possibilities formed in Harry's mind, but none that seemed probable. He let out a shrug. He would just have to wait until Monday to find out just what it was that Ron was being so evasive about.  
  
*  
  
"Hiya, Herm."  
  
Hermione couldn't help but grin as the face of Ron Weasley appeared in her fireplace with a 'pop.' The rest of him followed as he quickly stepped out of the fireplace. As Hermione looked him over, a brief thrill that she couldn't quite identify fluttered through her heart. Stop it, she ordered herself quickly. Act normal. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but she couldn't think of anything. Neither could Ron, apparently.  
  
Thankfully, the two weren't left alone much longer. Mrs. Weasley's figure appeared in the emerald fire soon after. Hermione noticed, as the kindly woman stepped out of the fireplace, that she appeared significantly more stressed than usual. Still, she greeted Hermione warmly. "And how have you been, dear?" Not waiting for a response, she continued. "I've come instead of Arthur because goodness knows we can't send him to a Muggle house, he'll be pestering your parents about all that plug nonsense."  
  
At this point, Molly Weasley seemed to notice Hermione's parents, who were watching from a sofa at the end of the room. They had viewed the Weasleys entrance with awe, and were now giving Mrs. Weasley awkward grins. "Good day," Mrs. Weasley said to them in her typically cheery manner, rushing over to offer a hand. "So very pleased to meet you."  
  
After a brief and polite conversation, Mrs. Weasley lit a fire with her wand and threw a dash of Floo powder into the fire. "Ron and the trunk first," she instructed, as Hermione helped Ron lug her trunk into the fire, carefully avoiding his eyes.  
  
"The Burrow!" he shouted, disappearing into the flames.  
  
"Now you, dear," said Mrs. Weasley.  
  
Hermione bid farewell to her parents, stepped into the roaring fire, and said her destination. A minute later, she was face to face with Ron Weasley.  
  
*  
  
"So," Ron said nervously. It had taken quite some doing to find a place where he and Hermione could talk privately. Finally, they had settled on Ron's room after dinner. "I think we both know what we need to talk about."  
  
Hermione nodded in agreement, so he continued. "We need to talk about, well…us."  
  
"Is there an 'us'?" Hermione questioned suddenly.  
  
"I don't know," Ron replied, his ears turning red. "But I'd, well, kind of like there to be."  
  
"So would I," she spoke up. "So let's just…see where this takes us, I guess." She managed a smile, which Ron returned.  
  
Put at ease by Hermione's words, Ron spoke. "In that case, Hermione Granger, would you like to put our newly found understanding to the test with a walk? Only we'll have to dodge the twins unless you want them teasing us for all eternity."  
  
Hermione spoke earnestly. "I would love to."  
  
*  
  
"So here we are. Another month of blessed freedom, and we can't even enjoy it," Ron's words echoed throughout the night.  
  
For once, Hermione didn't scold him on needing to work harder at school. Far more important matters were on both of their minds. "I know, I know…but let's not talk about that right now. Let's just watch the sun set and be grateful that Harry's alive and that now we have a capable Minister and that things are already improving. The storm is far from over, but now we've a fighting chance. Let's enjoy it while it lasts."  
  
"When you put it that way…" smiled Ron.  
  
The two didn't say anything for several minutes. Both just gazed into the purple-reddish sky and it's looming ball of gold, each lost in their own thoughts. Though no words were spoken, both found a strange comfort in the other's presence.  
  
Looking back, Ron never was quite sure exactly what it was that made him do what he did next. He took Hermione's hand in his own and held it. She flushed a bright magenta. But she didn't remove his hand.  
  
*  
  
Harry checked his watch for the tenth time within three minutes. Only 4:53…darn it. Would 5:00 never come? He couldn't stand being under Aunt Petunia's loathing gaze for a moment longer. She and Uncle Vernon were nervously waiting in the living room with Harry, looking like they expected the house to burst into flames at any given moment. While Harry had repeatedly (and rather unsuccessfully) attempted to explain the concept of Apparating and Portkeys, that didn't stop Uncle Vernon from staring at the repaired fire place with a combination of fear and hatred.  
  
4:56…4:58…Please, hurry up, Harry thought. Several tortuous moments later, Arthur Weasley appeared in the center of the Dursleys living room, carrying a book which Harry assumed to be the Portkey. While the Dursleys were staring at Mr. Weasley's tattered robes with great distaste, he greeted them cordially and Harry brightly. Vernon and Petunia returned the greeting with minimal politeness, as Mr. Weasley's wand was still in his hand from Apparating.   
  
Harry all too gladly reached out to touch the book, trying to forget his last experience with a Portkey as he did so. Hello to the Burrow, he thought with a grin as the familiar house zoomed into view.  
  
*  
  
A few hours later, Harry was full with Mrs. Weasley's cooking, and brought up to date with all the news in the wizarding world. ("Arabella Figg's already taken steps towards removing Azkaban from the control of the dementors, see? Now that's what I call a competent Minister!") He was thrilled at being with his two best friends again, and had enjoyed catching up with them. In fact, Harry was so happy from the sheer joy at being with Ron and Hermione that he was quite oblivious to their change of behavior towards each other. What brought even more euphoria to him were the plans made for his birthday in two days. Dumbledore had explained about Sirius to the Weasleys, and they believed him. Arrangements had been made for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to visit Sirius and Professor Lupin for his birthday. Harry was already eagerly counting down the days to when he could see his godfather under pleasant circumstances-as well as what would likely be the best birthday of his life.  
  
Caught up in the joys of the moment, Harry almost forgot about the peculiar post-script in Ron's letter. Almost-but not quite. He decided to wait until they were both lying in bed. "Ron?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What was that thing you wanted to tell me?"  
  
Ron's now-red face was barely visible in the darkness. "Well…it's about…you know…well…Hermione," he finally blurted.  
  
"What about her?" Harry carefully kept his tone neutral.  
  
"Well, see, she went to Bulgaria. And I was a bit, well, rude about it. But then it turns out she didn't have such a great time after all. So I thought maybe…I wrote her and admitted that I, well, liked her. I don't know what made me do it. But then-she wrote back and said that she liked me too. And that's it, really."  
  
A slow grin formed on Harry's lips. "So you two are an item now, eh?" he asked, a smile in his voice.  
  
"You could, er, put it that way," murmured Ron.  
  
"Well that's great!" declared Harry. "I think you two would make a good couple-"  
  
He was about to continue, but was cut off by Ron's snores.  
  
*  
  
'Hermione and Ron! How strange-yet I'm not surprised. In fact, I should have guessed all along,' thought Harry. Reflecting on the previous year, Harry could not understand why he hadn't seen this coming. Ron had hardly been discreet with his dislike for Viktor Krum. Harry supposed he'd simply been preoccupied with the Triwizard Tournament…  
  
With that, Harry drifted off to sleep.  
  
*  
  
A few hours later, he woke up screaming. His scar was stinging him with almost as great torment as it ever had. And the dream with Voldemort-it had all been so real.  
  
Gripping onto his pained head, Harry forced himself to draw several deep breaths, forlornly trying to keep his mind off of the haunting images that had just appeared in his dreams. Hastily, he reached for a piece of parchment and quill and began to write:  
  
Dear Professor Dumbledore,  
  
I've just had a dream about Voldemort...  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: Does that count as a cliffhanger? Anyway, hope you liked. It *will* pick up, I promise. Thanks for reading, and I'll try to get the next part out ASAP.  



	2. A Very Happy Birthday

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.  
  
A Note From The Author: I am so, so sorry that this took so long in getting out, and that it's shorter than I intended. Between vacation, end-of-the-term work, and my trying to figure out where I want to go with this, it's been quite awhile, for which I apologize. Hopefully the next part will be out sooner. Before you start, I warn you that this is a fairly fluffy segment. Thank you so much to Arabella, for being such a great beta-reader. And also thank you of you wonderful people who reviewed the last one. Please enjoy!  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
Part II  
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira  
  
***  
  
"You mean one of those dreams?" Ron's eyes widened as he spoke.  
  
Harry nodded. "Yeah."  
  
"Well, aren't you going to tell us about it?" Ron demanded, referring to himself and Hermione.  
  
Harry took a deep breath as he began to retell his dream:  
  
"Come, Death Eaters," hissed the snake-like voice of a newly returned Lord Voldemort as he touched upon the left shoulder of one of his servants.  
  
Gradually, a platoon of hooded wizards appeared in the bleak plain a few at a time. Each bowed his head in submission, and carefully repeated the words "Yes, my Lord." After such formalities were over and done with, each Death Eater found his place in the circle that surrounded Voldemort. The air was thick with tension and anxiety.  
  
Just then, a new Death Eater Apparated into the ring, alone. "Ah, yes, Severus," spoke Voldemort's voice. "What news have you from that Muggle-loving fool?"  
  
The lips of Severus Snape twisted into a cruel smirk. "He has made new arrangements for young Potter. He will be staying with his friend's family for the duration of the summer. Unfortunately, Dumbledore himself put protection spells on the boy and the house. They cannot be broken."  
  
Surprisingly, Voldemort did not seem overly disappointed with this news. "Very well then. I expected as much. It does not matter. Death Eaters, I have now conceived a new plan, one that will ensure my place of power."  
  
The Dark Lord paused as he glared around at his circle of followers. "What is it, my Lord?" spoke the eager voice of Lucius Malfoy.  
  
For a moment, Voldemort met Malfoy's gaze with a hardened look, but he quickly turned his eyes back towards the whole circle. "Hogwarts, as you know, is extremely well-protected. No other witch or wizard could even begin to think of penetrating its security. But I, I am the Heir of Slytherin. I have access to all of the secrets of the Hogwarts Four. The great Salazar once built a secret passageway that was to lead directly to Hogwarts. It was built in coalition with the Chamber of Secrets, though the plan was never completed before his death. The passageway can only be opened by Slytherin's descendants. It will give me complete access to Hogwarts. So much power…it could be mine."  
  
His fiery red eyes took on a crazed gleam at the thought of such power, but the evil being quickly sobered as reality hit him. "However, as of yet I have been unsuccessful in locating this passageway. I have narrowed it down to a certain area, however. Your task, Death Eaters, is to pinpoint the exact location. You are to look for areas with strong magical auras, as those are the most likely. Now, go. Do not fail me."  
  
By the time Harry finished retelling all this, both Hermione and Ron had eyes as wide as Bludgers. "You've written Dumbledore, of course?" Hermione questioned sharply.  
  
"Yeah," Harry responded, while his friend nodded approval.  
  
Ron, meanwhile, was more focused on Snape. "The git!" he exclaimed. "He's told You-Know-Who where you are. Spy my rear end. I'll bet he's really on the Dark Side."  
  
Though Harry felt somewhat inclined to agree, Hermione looked at him sternly. "I'm sure if Dumbledore trusts him, then he's right to. He's probably just a spy like he was before."  
  
To Harry's surprise, Ron flushed at this gentle reprimand. Normally he might have picked an argument, but now he said nothing. Remembering Ron's confession the night before, Harry thought he understood. Furthermore, he noted the two sitting closer to one another than was necessary.  
  
"Anyway, Harry," said Hermione, interrupting Harry's internal debate on whether to make a comment. "I'm sure it's nothing for you to worry about. So long as you've written to Dumbledore as he told you to-"  
  
"I told you already, I did," replied an exasperated Harry. Though he appreciated his friends' concern for him, he was already drowning in his own worries. The last thing he needed were those of others. A million questions, scenarios, and "what ifs" reeled around in his brain. Try as he might, he could not stop himself from what might happen if Dumbledore was unable to prevent Voldemort from finding and using this passage.  
  
Ron then interrupted Harry's vision of Voldemort showing up during his Transfiguration class. "Anyway…this is nothing to worry about, Harry. I'm sure Dumbledore and Arabella Figg will stop him from entering Hogwarts."  
  
His tone, however, was similar to that of someone saying "this could be good" in reference to brussel sprouts. Firm, hopeful even. But not quite believing it themselves.  
  
*  
  
Harry's wake-up the next day could not have been any more different from that of the previous day. Today there was no cold sweat, no lingering memories of a plotting Voldemort. No, instead Harry woke up to a wall of presents.  
  
"Happy birthday, Harry!" Ron said cheerfully; he had apparently been up for awhile.  
  
As Harry reached for his glasses and looked around the room, his lips pulled upward into a grin. The Chudley Cannon posters that were usually plastered around Ron's room were barely visible; in their place was a huge sign that wrapped around the whole of the room. It read "Happy Birthday, Harry!" and Harry inferred from the dancing letters that Mrs. Weasley had charmed it. Better still, at the foot of his bed was a large pile of presents.  
  
"Well, get opening them!" Ron demanded good-naturedly.  
  
Grinning at the presents, Ron, and Hermione, who had just entered the room, Harry grabbed the first one. It turned out to be a large box of candies from Mrs. Weasley. Harry snagged a Chocolate Frog, and then graciously passed the box on to his friends.  
  
Though the next present contained a good share of sweets as well, Harry knew better than to eat any of them. He could only imagine the kind of things that Fred and George had put in. Indeed, Harry recognized several Canary Creams, Pimply Pastries, and Ton-Tongue Toffees amidst many sweets he had never seen before. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know what they did.  
  
"You know what those are?" Harry asked Ron, pointing to the unidentifiable trick sweets.  
  
Ron shrugged; a mischievous glint working it's way into his eyes. "Maybe we can ask Draco Malfoy next term."  
  
The two looked towards Hermione, obviously expecting a scolding. Surprisingly, she only motioned for Harry to open the next package. Harry privately marveled that his best friends seemed to be in astonishingly good spirits for no apparent reason-or maybe it was just that they were sitting next to each other.  
  
The next present was from Ron, a glossy book that read A Seeker's Encyclopedia in gold letters. A blown-up picture of the Golden Snitch filled the front cover, with wings that really moved. Harry could tell that quite a bit of Ron's savings had gone into buying it, but he didn't say anything other than "Wow, Ron! Thanks!"  
  
Harry was a bit surprised at his next gift. It was such a light package that Harry couldn't possibly imagine what was inside. When he tore open the delicate package, he saw that it was a portrait, and quite a good one at that. Done in black and white, it was of himself, Ron, and Hermione. The artist had managed to capture the three figures almost perfectly, and Harry was amazed at the detail that went into the faces. Ron's sarcastic smirk and Hermione's intelligent smile, as well as his own determined look, were captured quite nicely. Harry's eyes wandered to a signature on the top-right corner. He made out the name "G. Weasley" in rather girlish script.  
  
Attached was a brief note:  
  
Harry,  
I hope you like this, and a very happy birthday to you!  
Ginny  
  
Harry frowned in thought. He had no idea that Ginny was such a talented artist. Come to think of it, she had never given him a birthday present at all before. It was a nice gesture, anyhow, Harry thought as he wordlessly showed Ron and Hermione, both of whom admired the painting, but did not seem remotely surprised by the artistic talent demonstrated by Ginny.  
  
Only one gift remained, which had to be from Hermione. Upon opening it, he saw it was a leather-bound book of medium thickness, though it had no title. He shot a questioning glance towards his friend. "It's a photo album," she explained. "It has photos from all of our years at Hogwarts. Well, not so many from our first year. I got most of the photos from Colin Creevey."  
  
While Ron sniggered, Harry began to leaf through the book. There was Neville, turning into a canary as the Gryffindor common room roared with laughter. There was Harry along with the rest of the Quidditch team, holding the Cup with grins a mile wide. There was a soaking, gasping-for-breath Harry, dragging Ron and Gabrielle out of the water. As Harry continued to look at the moving pictures, good memories rushing back to him as he did, he couldn't help but think that it was quite a thoughtful gift for Hermione to give. Words from Dumbledore's closing speech echoed through his mind. "Remember Cedric…" It suddenly occurred to him that it was important to remember not only Cedric, but all of the pleasant memories of the past. Harry vividly recalled telling Fred and George that they would be needing laughs more than usual. Perhaps the same was true of memories.  
  
Suddenly, Harry caught a glimpse of a shot taken at the end of his second year. He couldn't quite remember who had taken the picture, but it was just of himself, Ron, and Hermione, standing in front of the fireplace in the common room. Looking at the three smiling, careless children in the photo, Harry vowed that he wouldn't let them perish, no matter what the cost.  
  
*  
  
A couple of hours and a dash of Floo powder later, Harry found himself standing in the living room of Remus Lupin. Ron and Hermione had already arrived and were exchanging greetings with Professor Lupin, who looked considerably younger than when Harry had last seen him.  
  
Suddenly, Harry felt a hand pat his shoulder from behind. He turned around and found himself facing Sirius. He too appeared somewhat younger and, at any rate, happier, than when they had met last. But then, that had been the night when Voldemort returned…  
  
Harry quickly shook himself from his thoughts. It was his birthday, there was a competent Minister who was dealing with Voldemort, and he had every intention of enjoying himself for today, at least. "What, no greeting?" Sirius asked in a mock-hurt voice.  
  
Harry quickly put on a smile. "Hi, Snuffles."  
  
Sirius let out a very dog-like growl at the name-perhaps something he had picked up from spending so much time as Padfoot? -but otherwise let the comment slide. Harry, meanwhile, went to greet his former teacher. "Hello, Professor!" he said brightly.  
  
Lupin smiled in return. "You know, Harry, I really think we can drop the 'professor', as I'm not one anymore. You're free to call me Remus."  
  
"All right-Remus," said Harry, grinning at the thought of having what was bound to be the best birthday of his life.  
  
  
*  
  
"Had fun today, Harry?" Sirius asked with a smile several hours later.  
  
He needn't have asked, as Harry's exuberant face and gleeful eyes spoke for themselves. He certainly had "had fun." Best, perhaps, was receiving the gift Sirius and Remus had put together for him. It seemed as though they were thinking along the same lines as Hermione, as their "gift" was really a scrapbook of letters and pictures from his parents' schooldays. Slipped in were occasional narratives of some of the marauders' more interesting (and, Harry suspected, tamer) gags. Harry found the gift to be far better than the most expensive of broomsticks and other more extravagant pieces of wizarding equipment. He could have stared at the smiling images of his parents and the amusing letters for hours-and almost did, but Ron pulled him away.  
  
On top of that was a scrumptious ice cream cake that actually sang "Happy Birthday", however badly out of tune. After an enjoyable lunch, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had enjoyed a game of tag, played on broomsticks, and now his two best friends sat playing chess. Hermione was losing spectacularly, but didn't seem to mind. Harry certainly didn't miss the warm glow emitting from the two when sitting close together.  
  
Reflecting back on the day, Harry knew that being with his friends was the best birthday gift of all.   
  
*  
  
  
  
  



	3. 

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's, except for one original character who isn't that important yet anyway.  
  
A Note From The Author: Well let me start out by thanking everyone who's reviewed so far: Hermione L. Granger, college girl, Landry Anne, Siria Snape, Sara, J, Firebolt909, Puzzler, Snuffles, MagicianX, rissa, ron's babe, Shankzta Lockhart, Tinabedina, Cornelius Fudge, nikalee, Malena, person, and lotrfan. Your comments are my soul's candy, and I love you for it. Thank you. In this chapter, I kind of fast-forward through the summer so we can get straight to Hogwarts. My utmost apologies if it seems rushed, but I don't want to drag the summer out any more than I have already. This is the last of the "introductory" chapters. The chapters that follow will have much more action. I have decided on alternating POVs for this, BTW. The last chapter was told from Harry's perspective, this will be from Ron's, the next will be from Hermione's, and so on. A big "thank you" goes to Arabella for beta-reading. Well now that I've taken care of those things I'll stop babbling and cut to the story. Please enjoy.  
  
About The Revisions: I was re-reading this and realized I forgot to put in a vital clue about what's coming next. I suggest you re-read this chapter to get an idea of what's coming. (hint, hint) On top of that, I changed the last scene a little, but that's it.  
  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
Part III  
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira  
  
***  
  
The rest of the summer passed by peacefully. Or, as Ron reflected, as peacefully as was possible when You-Know-Who…oh, fine, Voldemort, was returned to power. But even there things were relatively quiet. The Dark Lord was apparently somewhat taken aback by the new Minister and there were not nearly as many reports of brute attacks. Whether this was a good thing or a bad thing no one was sure. Was Voldemort-Ron still winced at the name-really scared? Or was he just preparing to launch a new terror?  
  
More and more, Harry's dream gnawed at Ron's mind. Could the explanation for the calmed violence be that the Dark Lord was occupying himself by plotting on how to get into Hogwarts? Ron gave an involuntary shudder as he thought of a swarm of Death Eaters showing up in the middle of his Transfiguration class. But then, there was a reason why his favorite Quidditch team had the motto of "Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best." More often than not, Ron preferred to do just that. After all, hadn't Dumbledore written Harry to thank him for his assistance and to inform him that he was "currently formulating a plan to prevent such an action"? If anything, Ron had complete confidence in the Headmaster.  
  
The most monumental event of August, in most people's opinion, was the fact that the dementors had been removed entirely from Azkaban. Now, highly trained Ministry Hit Wizards guarded the fortress, along with extremely powerful charms to prevent any prisoner from leaving. Albus Dumbledore himself was said to have cast those particular spells.  
  
The most monumental event of August, in Ron Weasley's opinion, was that Hermione had kissed him not once but twice on the cheek. Most unfortunately it was that Fred had happened to walk in on the second peck on the cheek. The twins were now making kissing noises every time Ron approached, to his great irritation. Everyone else at the Burrow, with the obvious exception of Hermione and possibly Percy as well, seemed to find the whole thing highly amusing themselves, though no one dared to say so.  
  
The above incidents set aside, life at the Burrow was blissfully normal throughout the last days of summer. The twins, Ron, and Harry played Quidditch scrimmages. Hermione and occasionally Ginny as well watched and smiled from the ground. Mrs. Weasley doted on Harry during mealtimes, and on one occasion, Percy had accidentally swallowed a Toad Tart, which caused the victim to speak in croaks for a half hour. Apparently Fred and George were still hoping to open their joke shop after graduating.  
  
September 1st arrived all too soon. Despite the tension revolving around Voldemort's return, Ron had to admit that few summers had been so enjoyable. This can be largely attributed to a certain brunette with whom Ron had taken many late night walks. Indeed, his relationship with Hermione had certainly evolved. While they still had their famous rows, both parties took obvious pleasure in such banter, and were even more elated in the making-up.  
  
Having just had a particularly nice making-up scene, it was with a blissful heart that Ron boarded the Hogwarts Express. He felt a jolt of electricity as Hermione took the seat next to his and slid her hand into his own. 'Take that, you Bulgarian Quidditch player!', he couldn't help but think.  
  
Harry and Ginny arrived shortly afterwards, interrupting Ron's rather shameless gloating. "You two look awfully cozy," Ginny giggled.  
  
'Why do I have to have such a big-mouthed sister? Can't keep her mouth shut about anything, she can't…Hey, wait a minute. Normally she can barely keep from fainting when Harry's around. What's with her, anyway?'  
  
Harry apparently noticed as well, for he looked at Ginny strangely. At this she promptly turned pink and quickly occupied herself with rearranging her battered trunk, which lay beside Harry's. 'Ah-ha. So she still fancies him.'  
  
The rest of the trip passed pleasantly. Ron was surprised to find that he didn't really mind his sister intruding on his time with his two best friends. In fact, Ginny was quite a pleasant and amiable companion, though considerably less talkative and smart-alecky than usual. Doubtless Harry's presence was to account for that. Ron considered making a remark about this in retaliation to her previous comment, but Hermione seemed to sense what he was planning and silenced him with a glare.  
  
The four found considerable conversation material for the long journey, and chatted genially about how hard it was to believe that this was Fred and George's last year, what the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would be like, and would they finally get one that would last for more than a year?  
  
Hermione showed Ron and Harry her new prefect's badge with a combination of pride and embarrassment. She glanced anxiously at Ron, awaiting his opinion. Ron knew he would shock her royally by breaking out into an ear-to-ear grin. "Excellent! Now we can get away with breaking rules!"  
  
This made Hermione look even more embarrassed. "As a prefect I can't sanction rule-breaking just because you're my friends," she said quickly.  
  
Ron was on the verge of making a comment like "You're turning into Percy!" But he caught a glimpse of Hermione's hurt eyes and quickly rebuked himself. "Of course," he said quickly.   
  
And soon, the Hogwarts Express came to a halt. Its' passengers walked off, ready to begin a new year.  
  
*  
  
"Welcome back," came the voice of Albus Dumbledore.  
  
At the sound of the familiar voice, the merry chatter that echoed throughout the Great Hall ceased. Ron focused on the old man, who appeared somewhat exhausted at the moment. "I would like to say a few words before we resume the feast."  
  
Ron was expecting something along the lines of "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" He could not have been more wrong. Instead, the Headmaster continued in a tone more grave than usual. "I would first like to welcome Professor Dorson, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."  
  
A tall, lanky, woman of about 45 stood up looking nervous. She wore robes of dark maroon-Ron couldn't help but snicker at the color-and her dirty blonde hair was pulled up in a loose bun. Ron frowned as he looked her over. Had he met this woman before? A flock of heads turned towards the staff table as the whole of Hogwarts attempted to catch a glimpse of their new teacher. The applause that followed her introduction was cordial at most; everyone was too used to Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers coming and going.  
  
The Hall broke into murmurs once more as students began to give their appraisal of Professor Dorson. Dumbledore quickly silenced his pupils with a wave of his hand. "I hope that those of you that were here remember what I said to you at the end of last year."  
  
Here, Ron took a quick glance at Harry, whose eyes had darted towards the Hufflepuff table. "As most of you know, Lord Voldemort has indeed returned."  
  
These words didn't create nearly the commotion they had the previous year. Voldemort's return was now a widely accepted fact, though many flinched at the sound of the name. "I shall be frank with you. There is every possibility that the Dark Lord may attempt to break into the school."  
  
There were loud gasps from everyone, excluding those who already knew about Harry's dream and certain Slytherins whom had likely heard it from their parents. Dumbledore waited until the tumult had died down. "I assure you that extreme safety measures are being taken to prevent such. I ask you to remain calm and to obey all instructions given to you. I also request that no one travel out of bounds after dark. In the past, some of you may have gotten away with midnight wanderings beyond the school grounds,"-Ron noticed Harry squirm guiltily at this-"But now it is more vital than ever that you stay within school boundaries and listen to your professors. Thank you and enjoy the feast."  
  
The chatter wasn't so merry after that.  
  
*  
  
"Schedules!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly at breakfast the next morning.  
  
"Schedules?" Ron's voice echoed incredulously. "Honestly, Hermione, you sound like your birthday's come early. We get to find out what pointless classes we get to take this year and when. That's fantastic, that is."  
  
"Some of us actually care about our studies," Hermione sniffed loftily. "You may not have noticed, Ronald Weasley, but we have our O.W.L.s coming up this year and some of us would like to do well."  
  
The adoration in her eyes could not be missed. Ron only grinned at her.  
  
*  
  
Several uneventful hours later, Ron felt himself sitting in the stuffy classroom of Sibyll Trelawney, who wasted no time informing the class that the Dark Lord's return would bring bad fortune upon Leos. Ron let out a derisive snort as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil gasped in fear. He looked to his right where Harry was sitting and rolling his eyes. "That makes it the, what, hundred-fourteenth time?" Ron whispered to his friend.  
  
"You're welcomed to start counting," Harry said in an undertone.  
  
"Nah," Ron replied, casting a glance towards their professor who was looking rather detached at the moment. "Too much work."  
  
Soon thereafter, Ron began to doodle pictures of Bludgers and Quaffles inside his copy of 'Unfogging The Future' and began to count the minutes left in class, occasionally looking towards Harry, who had fallen asleep.  
  
A sudden gasp from his right diverted Ron from his highly essential work. He turned to find Harry clutching his scar with a terrified expression on his face. 'Oh, no,' thought Ron. 'He couldn't have had another one of those?!'  
  
The entire class watched intently as Harry leaped out of his seat. Still clutching his scar, he quickly explained to Trelawney that he had a bad headache, and could he please go to Madam Pomfrey immediately?  
  
Though quite displeased, Trelawney granted him permission to leave reluctantly. Harry quickly left the North Tower, though Professor Trelawney called behind him that it was an unlucky day for people wearing spectacles. (Apparently this did not extend to herself.)  
  
Ron was more anxious than ever for the duration of the class. He just couldn't squash his anxiety. His best friend's horrified face when he awoke from whatever dream he had had filled his mind. What was Voldemort up to now? Thousands of terrible possibilities came to him, but Ron had to know the truth.  
  
But for now, he could only cross his fingers and hope for the best.  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this part as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have ideas, comments, constructive criticism, whatever, please review. Thanks!  



	4. A Time Cut Short

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.  
  
A Note From The Author: Well, here it is. (Wow! Two chapters in four days! Have I been getting better at this or what? ^_^) As always, thank you so much to those of you who reviewed last time. I have never gotten so many reviews in one day as I did after posting chapter three. Thank you! Also, I made a few small (but important) revisions to Chapter Three, so I suggest you re-read that. This chapter is somewhat more fast-paced than the previous three, but I just made a *big* revelation about the plot that requires the introduction to be dragged out for another chapter. So sorry! It gets *much* more exciting thereafter, believe me! Without any further ado:  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
Part IV  
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira  
  
***  
  
Hermione was involved in an intricate discussion with Professor Vector, her Arithmacy teacher, when suddenly Ron Weasley came running up to her. "There you are!" he said, gasping for breath. "Harry-dream-Divination-must tell you-"  
  
With that, Ron dragged her away, tugging so fiercely that Hermione nearly dropped her books. "Common room," Ron murmured breathlessly, letting go of Hermione's arm, though still moving at a fast jog despite his books. Hermione struggled to keep up. Why was it so important they go to the common room now, anyway? Why did he need to speak to her so badly? And where was Harry?   
  
Several very confusing minutes later, the pair climbed through the portrait hole gasping. "Well!" Hermione exclaimed once she had her breath. "What's so important that you feel the need to haul me away from Professor Vector and drag me halfway across the castle?"  
  
"Harry-I think Harry had another one of those dreams. In Divination. He was clutching his scar."  
  
Hermione paused for a moment to take that in. Normally she held little stock in dreams, prophecies, and the like. But there was no denying that Harry had a link with Voldemort that alerted him whenever the Dark Lord was feeling particularly vengeful. And a vengeful Voldemort amounted to nothing but complete havoc.  
  
"Should we-wait for him, then?" Ron asked. "We've got an hour 'till Defense."  
  
Hermione nodded mutely.  
  
*  
  
The next ten minutes were among the most anxious of Hermione's life. Not quite so anxious as waiting for Harry to face his dragon in the first task, or for him to come out of the maze in the third. But still, they were anxious moments nevertheless. The two sat close together, fingers intertwining. Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything. Words weren't needed just then.   
  
When their short, black-haired friend finally climbed through the portrait hole, both nearly jumped on him. "What happened?" Hermione demanded instantly.  
  
Harry looked like he would rather spend a day walking a blast-ended skrewt than answer, but he did anyway. "Voldemort," he said in a flat tone. "He's found the area where that passageway is. He may be coming sooner than you think."  
  
"But-Dumbledore's working on protection spells, isn't he?"  
  
Harry nodded. He looked like he was about to say more, but quickly changed his mind. His green eyes held a troubled look that Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on. And that scared her.  
  
*  
  
"Good afternoon, class."  
  
The chatter quickly quenched as Professor Dorson entered. Hermione immediately focused her eyes on her teacher. It was absurd, of course, but there was just something so familiar about her…Hermione's musings were silenced by Dorson beginning to call for attendance in a soft, yet strangely silky, voice.  
  
For the rest of the lesson, Professor Dorson gave a lecture to the class regarding various curses and their side effects. Hermione herself hung onto her Professor's every word, taking very neat and detailed notes. It cannot be said, however, that her classmates were quite so studious for the duration of the period. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil pouring over what looked like a copy of 'TeenWitch' under Lavender's desk. Upon hearing a mad scribbling from her left, Hermione looked at Ron-was he really taking notes? It was only upon further investigation that she saw the words 'Reasons Why Draco Malfoy Should Be Expelled' written on top of Ron's piece of parchment.  
  
Sighing, Hermione turned back to her work, still unable to squash the uneasy feeling she received from Professor Dorson.  
  
*  
  
Harry mentioned that he would be late coming to dinner that night; Professor McGonagall had called a meeting of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team to discuss the coming season, which included selecting a captain. Hermione noticed Ron's ears turn slightly pink at the mention of Quidditch, though all he said was that with any luck neither Fred nor George would be chosen as Captain "or practices will be a circus."  
  
Though Hermione felt somewhat guilty at this, she was glad to have a private moment with Ron. She loved Harry as a friend very much and always would, but there was just something about the time she spent alone with her other best friend that was so special. A glance at Ron told her that he was thinking the same thing, though he still looked embarrassed by something.  
  
"Hermione," he began hesitatingly as they walked towards the Great Hall. "D'you think I might have a chance at being Keeper?"  
  
Not being all that interested nor knowledgeable in Quidditch, Hermione was not perhaps the best person to direct that question to. But it was clear that Ron valued her opinion and he awaited an answer. Hermione recalled watching the boys play over the summer. Despite the fact that his broom was both old and slow, Ron had pulled off many a good save during the heated games. "Yes," she replied honestly.  
  
Ron's face lit up. "You-you mean it?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Ron's broad grin was worth a million "thank yous."  
  
*  
  
Harry returned with news that Angelina Johnson had been chosen as Captain. He also reported that tryouts for Keeper were to take place the coming Saturday "so get practicing."   
  
The last comment was directed towards Ron, who had flushed at the news. Soon thereafter, Fred and George joined the discussion, which had turned, appropriately enough, towards Quidditch.  
  
Hermione sat back in her chair and soon tuned out the animated conversation. That was one of the problems with being friends with boys. When the talk turned to Woollongong Shimmies and Wronski Feints, you felt somewhat left out.  
  
As she scanned the common room, Hermione noticed Ginny Weasley sitting by herself. The usually cheerful girl wore rather a morbid expression, and her freckled face was a shade or two paler than usual. Her small frame seemed to cry out for companionship. Hermione knew what she needed to do. She obviously wasn't being missed in the Quidditch talk, and Ginny needed her.  
  
"Ginny?" Hermione asked quietly, coming over to her friend.  
  
Ginny looked up at her with wide, terrified brown eyes. Hermione remembered the Chamber of Secrets all too well. 'She's been closer to Voldemort than anyone else I know, even Harry', thought Hermione. 'No wonder she's so scared.'  
  
"I heard Lavender and Parvati talking about how Harry fell asleep in Divination, and how when he woke up, he was clutching his scar. Is it true?"  
  
Hermione nodded wordlessly. "Was it another one of…those dreams?"  
  
Again, Hermione nodded her consent. "Can you tell me what it was about, or will that just terrify me?" Now Ginny's voice was at a near-whisper.  
  
Hermione considered. It probably would just terrify Ginny. But then, Hermione knew her friend to have an active imagination. It would probably be best to tell her what was really happening, so to prevent her from dreaming up awful scenarios. Hermione dearly hoped Harry wouldn't mind her talking about his dreams. "Voldemort may be hatching a plan to-get into Hogwarts."  
  
To Hermione's great surprise, Ginny now looked as though a great weight had been lifted from her. "That's it?"  
  
Hermione was hardly able to conceal her astonishment at those blunt words. Noticing this, Ginny hurriedly explained. "I mean, it's awful of course, but I was imagining things much worse than that. I guess I do get carried away sometimes," she concluded sheepishly.  
  
Hermione was pleased to see a bit of color returning to Ginny's cheeks, though her eyes were still dark. "And, anyway," her friend said, her voice forcedly light, "If You-Know-Who shows up, I might not have to do this essay for Snape."  
  
*  
  
Come Saturday morning, Hermione found herself in the Quidditch bleachers with Ginny, awaiting the beginning of the tryouts. Looking downwards, she saw Harry conferring with the rest of the team. She also saw a line of about eight or so Gryffindors, evidently trying out for the Keeper position. Her eyes fell on that familiar flash of flaming red hair among them, and her face broke out into a rather silly grin.  
  
Madam Hooch walked onto the pitch, requesting that the contenders draw lots to determine the tryout order. After that was done, those trying out formed a line, evidently from who was going first to who was going last. Ron was going second. 'Well, good,' Hermione thought. 'At least he gets it over with that way.'  
  
Hermione observed the first Keeper without much interest, though noting that she had missed three out of the ten shots that Angelina, Alicia, and Katie threw at her. Hermione swallowed hard after the last shot. Next was Ron's turn. He looked positively green, but she noticed her friend smile towards the stands before taking off. She smiled back.  
  
Hermione held her breath as Alicia pelted the bright red Quaffle towards the goalpost farthest from Ron. 'Please, please, please, get it,' she found herself thinking. Ron zoomed over towards where the ball was headed as fast as his Shooting Star would take him. It was a difficult save…oh, no, he wasn't going to make it…Just a split-second before the Quaffle was about to go through the goalpost, Ron let go of his broom and grabbed onto the ball tightly. Hermione's was among the most rapturous of the applause that followed.  
  
After that, Ron didn't miss a single save. Not a one. And not a soul was surprised when Angelina announced that the new Gryffindor Keeper was Ron Weasley.  
  
Grinning madly, Hermione rushed down to the field to congratulate him.  
  
*  
  
The celebration that followed was as rambunctious, loud, and euphoric as could be expected when Fred and George Weasley were put in charge. It was because of the late hour to which it continued-or perhaps it was just a few too many Butterbeers-that caused Hermione to sleep uncharacteristically late the following morning. Groggily, she opened her eyes and was much dismayed to find that it was already ten-thirty.  
  
"Oh, so you're finally up," said Parvati, who was already dressed. "You don't know, do you?"  
  
"Know what?"  
  
Hermione didn't really mind Parvati, but she was a notorious gossip. Whatever news she had right now was not news that Hermione felt like hearing. The words that fell from Parvati's lips, however, were a far cry from her usual 'so-and-so broke up with so-and so.' "Susan Bones was killed last night."  
  
"H-how?" Hermione heard herself gasp.  
  
"Avada Kedavra, of course. Murdered right in her dorm."  
  
Hermione felt a cold chill race through her as she pressed her hand to her mouth in horror. This was just like when Cedric died. Only worse. This wasn't about a student being taken and murdered miles away, tragic though that was. This was about a girl her own age being killed in cold blood in her own bed. How could she sleep at night after this?  
  
"B-but who? And why?"  
  
Parvati shrugged and for the first time Hermione noticed a gleam of sorrow in her eyes. "A Death Eater, of course. They're trying to find out who, but good luck catching any one of that lot. As to why, didn't you here? Susan made a prophecy about You-Know-Who's fall during Divination just this week…"  
  
Hermione fell back on her bed, tears welling up in her eyes. This was way too much to absorb all at much. Susan Bones, a Seer. Susan, dead…Why, oh, why did she care so much? While Susan had been perfectly nice and cordial on the few occasions Hermione had spoken with her, she hadn't really known her. 'I think that's the worst part of all,' Hermione thought. 'I never will get to know her…'  
  
Hermione closed the curtains around her bed and thought for a long time after that.  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: See that blue box down there? Be a dear and fill it out, won't you?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Blood-Marked Wounds

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.  
  
A Note From The Author: Wow! I can't believe I have over 50 reviews for this! Thank you so much to all of you wonderful people. Just some comments for some reviewers: Aria*, Firebolt909, and anyone else who asked for H/G: I think you're going to like this chapter. J The anti-Fleur and KE Heyduk: You people have *got* to stop flattering me! No way is my style nearly as good as the great Ms. Rowling's. Now stop inflating my ego! :-D And A. Spinnet: Very good point about Parvati. I agree. I'm not too pleased with the way that scene turned out. Here you go:  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
Part V  
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira  
  
***  
  
"It is terrible deeds like this that remind us why it is so important to fight the Dark Arts."  
  
Dumbledore spoke these words calmly, but his blue eyes that looked around the Great Hall were full of grief. He continued in the same controlled tone. "I would like to explain to you why it is important that you resist the Dark Lord, why it is necessary that we unite for one cause. But the truth is that I cannot. You must answer that for yourselves."  
  
Here Harry noticed the Headmaster's eyes linger on the Slytherin table for a while. "Now I ask you to make two toasts. The first is in memory of Susan Bones."  
  
He raised his glass, and the rest of the class did the same, with the exception of some of the Slytherins. "For Susan," echoed the whole of the student body.  
  
"The second," began Dumbledore, "is for unity, for without it there will never be victory."  
  
As Harry raised his cup, he couldn't help but look at Malfoy, whose lips were forming a derisive smirk as he muttered to Crabbe and Goyle. "For unity."  
  
Dumbledore sat down after that, announcing that dinner would commence. Still most food lay untouched.  
  
*  
  
Harry lied awake for a long time that night without being entirely sure why. No, wait, that wasn't quite true. He did know why. Susan's death was a symbol of everything that happened last year. Everything that he wanted to forget…  
  
Harry sighed. Cedric dead, now Susan, Lord Voldemort with a plot to get into Hogwarts…it was all swimming in his mind. Thousands of questions nagged him, asking him how Susan had been murdered in such an improbable place, why Dumbledore had looked so grave telling him that he "had a plan to be put into place", how he could have let Cedric die…  
  
It was that last one that, after all this time, still tore at Harry's heart. For the other questions he could invent speculative, creative answers to and move on. But to that one he could only relive that fateful night, and wonder. Had there been a chance for him to save Cedric? Could he have possibly stepped in and taken the curse himself? Logic told him no, nothing he could have done would have saved Cedric. But logic didn't lessen the heavy burden of guilt he wore on his shoulders.  
  
*  
  
Harry stared at the dorm ceiling and brooded for at least an hour. At which point he could take no more. 'That's it!' he thought decisively. 'I'll just go down to the common room and…and write a letter to Sirius or something.' Thus, he grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and, feeling rather awkward, walked down the winding stairs to the common room.  
  
When he arrived in the dark, yet comfortable-looking room, Harry was surprised to find that someone else was already there-who he couldn't yet tell. Embarrassed, he made a quick movement towards the boys' dorms, but he realized that whoever it was had already seen him; he or she made a noise as if they wanted to speak, but couldn't quite figure out what to say.  
  
Harry turned around to see who it was. By candlelight, he made out a wisp of bright red hair, a pair of chocolate brown eyes, and a self-conscious smile. "Hi." Ginny's voice came out in a squeak.  
  
"Hi." Harry was surprised to find that his voice sounded as gauche as Ginny's own.  
  
Neither one knew what to say after that, never having conversed much with each other before. "Um…what's that you're holding?" Harry asked as he sat down, pointing to a small pad in Ginny's lap.  
  
At this, Ginny seemed to become less tense; on the contrary she became warm and sincere. "It's my sketchpad," she said. "I love art."  
  
Her words were simple, but her face was illuminated with joy as she spoke. "I thought so from the picture you gave me this summer," Harry told her.  
  
At that, Ginny's face flushed in what appeared to be a combination of pleasure and self-consciousness. "You liked it?" she asked softly.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, you're really talented and everything," Harry responded, hoping he didn't sound as stupid and babbly to Ginny as he did to himself.  
  
Harry then noticed that even as they were talking, she had a pencil in hand and seemed to be drawing something. "Er-what's that you're drawing?" he asked, desperate to get rid of this strange awkwardness he felt conversing with a girl-his best friend's sister nonetheless-at 1:00 in the morning.  
  
Ginny held her pad up, turning pink in the cheeks as she did so. Harry peered at it, curious as to the subject. The face of Bill Weasley stared back at him with an easygoing smirk and, of course, a fanged earring. Taken away by the realism of the portrait, Harry momentarily forgot the awkwardness of the situation. "That's great, Ginny! Do you have pictures of all of your brothers?"  
  
Apparently art was a comfortable subject with Ginny; she relaxed considerably. "Yes." Giggling, she added. "I had to make two of Percy. Fred and George stole the first one so they could throw darts at it."  
  
The two chuckled at that, and some of the tension seemed to be broken. "Ginny," Harry began hesitantly. "Why are you down here?"  
  
"Other than to enjoy your exquisite company at this fine hour, Mr. Potter?" Ginny responded immediately in a somewhat sardonic tone, but then clasped her hand to her mouth in embarrassment.  
  
Harry, however, was amused by this side of Ginny, which he had never seen before. "Your words wound me, Miss Weasley."  
  
"In that case, Mr. Potter, I suggest you go to bed immediately, since it would be just such a shame if you end up falling asleep in class tomorrow because you stayed up listening to my wounding words."  
  
At that, she put away her sketchpad and started up the steps towards the girls' dorm. But not before adding "Good night, Harry."  
  
Harry watched her with an amused expression. He never would have guessed that Ginny Weasley, the shy, blushing little girl who had once sent him a singing valentine, was really a smart aleck in disguise.  
  
But she never did tell him why she was in the common room at that late hour.  
  
*  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you, Longbottom, to add the boomslang after the daisy roots?"  
  
Snape looked like he was about to say something more, but quickly stopped. The reason was obvious: Dumbledore had just entered, looking tired and grave. "If I may borrow Mr. Potter for a moment, Severus."  
  
Snape growled, obviously displeased that he was missing an opportunity to make Harry's life miserable. But he could hardly refuse Dumbledore. The Potions master said only, in a very reluctant tone, that Harry had better come after to do the work he missed if he planned on passing.  
  
The prospect of going to Snape alone to ask for work was so grim that Harry wasn't even that relieved at missing class. He was, however, quite perplexed as to why Dumbledore wanted him. Sensing his thoughts, Dumbledore said "I require your assistance in one of the protection spells for the castle."  
  
Harry was bursting to know exactly what sort of "assistance" Dumbledore meant, but walking through the corridors was hardly the ideal place to ask that. "I shall give further detail when we reach my office," Dumbledore added.  
  
"Er…Professor?" Harry blurted. "What's happening with-Susan?"  
  
At this, Dumbledore's voice took a solemn turn and his eyes were tinged with grief. "Her parents took her body home this morning. She is to buried at her family's estate, with a private funeral."   
  
Harry only nodded mutely, and soon enough he was facing the familiarly ugly stone gargoyle. "Jelly slugs!"  
  
With that, Harry soon found himself in the large, circular room. Nor was he alone. "Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, fighting the childish urge to run up to his godfather.  
  
Sirius greeted his godson with the utmost warmth, but Harry didn't miss the fear in his eyes. 'Everyone is afraid these days,' Harry thought grimly. Dumbledore didn't give Harry time to brood on that rather morbid thought for long, however.  
  
"When Lord Voldemort took your blood, Harry, he was also depending on you for life. He became able to touch you. However, he also making it impossible for him to kill you, for blood magic is very powerful and cannot be broken easily. That, plus your link to him through your scar, is why I now also require your blood, to act as a barrier for the school. It is your choice, of course. But I ask this favor of you," Dumbledore said gently.  
  
"Of course," Harry responded immediately, without giving much thought to what it was he was actually agreeing to. Anything he could do to help Dumbledore, and hurt Voldemort, was acceptable as far as he was concerned.  
  
"Excellent," Dumbledore said, though he smile was forced. "Shall we begin, then?"  
  
"Er…okay."  
  
Dumbledore handed Harry a small blade and a crystal glass apologetically. It was then that Harry realized, with shock, that he was going to have to take his own blood. Trembling, he brought the knife to his arm, and made a cut, every muscle in his body tensing. It did not hurt-maybe it was enchanted?-but the sheer mental anguish at seeing his own blood drip was more than Harry could bear, especially when he recalled the last time someone had stuck a dagger into him.  
  
He quickly dropped the knife and picked up the glass, bringing it to his bleeding arm. Several drops of blood fell in the glass before his wound seemed to close up like a zipper, only his scar remaining. Evidently the blade was enchanted not only to be painless, but to ensure that only a certain amount of blood was lost.  
  
Harry, Sirius, and Dumbledore stared at the glass for several seconds that seemed to drag out into hours. Finally, the Headmaster spoke. "Thank you for that, Harry."  
  
"You're welcome," Harry mumbled, still a bit disconcerted by the sight of his blood. "Er-Professor, why is Sirius here?"  
  
"To discuss a certain matter with me," Dumbledore answered calmly, but both he and Dumbledore tensed at the question.  
  
Harry sighed internally. He missed the days of easy answers.  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: Well, I hope you liked that! More coming soon.  



	6. Start of an Unusual Something

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.  
  
A Note From The Author: As always, thank you to all of you wonderful people who review. I was unsure about how that last chapter turned out, so I especially loved reading your thoughts on it. Thanks a million times, and here's Chapter Six:  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
Part VI  
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira  
  
***  
  
"So, why'd you get off Potions, anyway?" Ron grumbled to Harry before Transfiguration.  
  
Harry gave a look that Ron had seen too often. His face was a startling combination of unwillingness, fear, and resignation. He was now staring at his desk as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world, and he was nervously twiddling with his fingers. He refused to speak for several minutes afterwards. Ron and Hermione exchanged a nervous glance over his shoulder.  
  
It wasn't until McGonagall had started the lesson that he spoke. "Hermione," he blurted suddenly in a whisper. "What d'you know about-about blood magic?"  
  
Hermione, who was actually paying attention to the lesson, seemed startled by the sudden question. "I know a bit," she answered slowly. "I did a bit of research after-anyway, there are all sorts of blood magic. It can be used for evil as well as good, and all of it is very powerful. So powerful that none of it can be broken. A lot of the spells used for the Light Side are for protection and such…why? Is that what Dumbledore's doing?"  
  
Harry confirmed her suspicions by nodding. Ron noticed him gripping his left arm rather hard. He wondered for a moment whether *Harry's* blood was being used for some sort of spell. If that were the case, then that would explain why he appeared so shaken.   
  
Ron's musings about his best friend were soon interrupted by Professor McGonagall, who then barked the familiar "You may want to try paying attention, Weasley!"  
  
There was an odd quiver to McGonagall's voice that Ron had never hard before. She seemed almost pained. But why would she? Shaking off his instincts, Ron tried to focus on the Professor's explanation on how to turn a coffee cup into a pigeon, even though he privately thought that no one in their right mind would ever want to turn a coffee cup into an irritating bird.  
  
Just as she raised her wand to demonstrate, however, the wand slipped from her quivering fingers and her tall frame, shaking, hit the floor with a dull thud. She had fainted.  
  
The entire class gasped their astonishment as they gathered around her fallen body. Stern, controlled Professor McGonagall actually *fainting*? In *class*? Many students were looking like Snape had just given points to Gryffindor. Hermione was, naturally, the first to recover from the initial astound. "Well, why are you all just standing here?" she said, somewhat huffily. "*I* am going to Madam Pomfrey!"  
  
With that, she marched out of the door. Ron couldn't help the grin that formed on his lips in spite of the circumstances. 'Is it totally stupid to think she's great when she gets all bossy?'  
  
Whether such a thought was stupid or not, Hermione arrived in a few minutes, accompanied by a grim-looking Madam Pomfrey. The nurse began to examine the unconscious teacher, whose lips had turned strangely blue, and whose skin was now an almost translucent white. She sighed, and conjured up a stretcher for her patient. Whilst levitating Professor McGonagall with her wand, she looked sternly on the class and informed them that they had the rest of the period off, but could *not* run amok, under any circumstances.  
  
Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and walked out wordlessly with her and Harry, trying to ignore this feeling he got that something wrong was going on.  
  
*  
  
After a half hour in the common room in which Ron played Hermione at chess (and annihilated her to the point that she accused him of foul play) and Harry watched, the three still had to go to the day's final lesson: Defense Against the Dark Arts.  
  
"Gee, I wonder what fascinating facts we're going to learn today!" Ron said sarcastically on the way to the lesson. "The date of the first documented execution of the Impedimenta curse? The origin of 'stupefy'? I can hardly contain myself with excitement!"  
  
Ron saw Hermione struggling not to smile, while Harry laughed outright. Professor Dorson's classes were becoming notoriously boring, so much that even Hermione seemed to dread them, which, as Ron pointed out, was nothing short of miraculous. However, most were quick to relish the fact that Dorson was quite lax in terms of discipline. She did not at all mind her students doing activities other than studying during her class, whether that be applying nail polish or experimenting with explosives. The former was a favorite activity of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, while Fred and George much preferred the latter.  
  
Today, however, the Professor had a practical activity planned for the fifth years. "Professor Dumbledore would like all of the pupils to participate in the protection of Hogwarts," she said in her soft voice.  
  
This caught the attention of most of, if not all of, the students, and all other activities quickly came to a halt. Harry in particular looked focused on the Professor-even more so than Hermione.  
  
"This spell does not require an extraordinary amount of skill or focus. It does, however, require you to think."  
  
At this point a gulp came from the direction of Neville Longbottom, evidently torn between relief that the spell wasn't very difficult and fright as to what sort of thought it required. Professor Dorson then gave him an extremely unreadable look that may have been tinged with sympathy.  
  
"Not the sort of thought," the Professor continued-her tone rather flat for the words she spoke, "that you are used to utilizing for your lessons. I need you to think of a single important possession that holds personal meaning for you. Please do not consider fancy broomsticks and the like. This object must be truly significant to you to work."  
  
At this point, Neville rose a trembling hand into the air. "Wh-what kind of object?"  
  
Again, she fixed her piercing gaze onto Neville. "That is for you to decide. Most people find meaning in special photographs, letters, or other such mementos. But you may choose what you like."  
  
At the word 'letters', Ron immediately knew what he would choose. But the letter Hermione had sent him over the summer was so valued that he was greatly averse to bringing such a personal item to class, no matter what the purpose. He raised his hand quickly. "Yes, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"Er, what are we going to do with the object, exactly?"  
  
"Good question. They will be placed in an enchanted casket. The power of your meaningful objects-provided you make a good selection-will help protect the school from any dark threats. Please choose an item with real personal meaning, since how strong the protection is will depend on how much your objects really mean to you. The Headmaster expects this protection to be necessary for only a few months. Your objects will return to you damage-free then. You have until the next lesson to select one. I ask you to bring it in then."  
  
'How can she talk about everything so matter-of-factly?' Ron thought irritably, but any thoughts about Professor Dorson's lack of emotion was set aside by his own overflowing of it. He knew that no other item he possessed would work so effectively as the much-cherished letter from Hermione than confessed her feelings. He decided, with great air of self-sacrifice, that parting with that beautiful letter for a few months was worth helping to protect Hogwarts.  
  
Ron then turned to his best friends. Hermione squeezed his hand, and somehow Ron knew that she was thinking of the letter he himself had sent her. Harry's eyes, however, remained quiet and thoughtful. He obviously had a certain object in mind, but whatever it was he would not say.  
  
Curiously, Ron looked around at his other classmates. Parvati and Lavender were excitedly chatting. ('Probably thinking of some article from Glamour! It's Magic! Magazine or something,' thought Ron.) Seamus and Dean were also talking, although Ron couldn't imagine what memento they were considering. Neville's expression, however, was surprising. He seemed to already have an object in mind and appeared unusually confident.  
  
After that startling announcement, Professor Dorson had immediately launched into a lecture about the origin of the Stunning spell.  
  
*  
  
At dinner that night, the objects people were choosing for the protection spell was a great topic of conversation. Apparently all of the students, even those in the first year, were taking part. "What are you choosing, Harry?"  
  
"A picture of my parents," he answered softly.  
  
Ron immediately felt sorry for asking. He should have known that that's what Harry would choose, of course, what else would be meaningful for him? Hermione shot Ron a dirty look, but merely said to Harry that she was sure that such a meaningful object would help the charm a good deal.  
  
"What are you two choosing, then?" Harry asked hastily, evidently wanting to turn the conversation away from himself.  
  
At this point, both Ron and Hermione became unusually evasive, answering only "a letter" in vague tones of voice. Harry grinned, and Ron was sure that he knew perfectly well who the authors of those letters were, and what they said.  
  
Ron's eyes fell on the staff table for a moment, and he noted surprisingly that Dumbledore was not there. This was quite unusual; despite his age, Dumbledore was hardly ever ill and always attended meals. Hermione followed his gaze. "I guess he's busy," she suggested.  
  
"That's not what *I* heard," said Parvati, who was sitting a few seats over. Parvati was rather fond of gossip and had a bad habit of listening in on other people's conversations. "Lydia Jenkins told me that when she went to the infirmary to get her eyebrows fixed-she accidentally cursed them off-- she saw Dumbledore unconscious in bed, just like McGonagall."  
  
"And of course if Lydia Jenkins says it, then it must be true!" snorted Ginny, who was also sitting nearby.  
  
Ron stole a glance towards his sister and noticed that she looked concerned in spite of her sarcastic words. Parvati may have been an awful gossip, but she did have an uncanny knack of finding out things before anyone else did. Could there be truth to her words?  
  
Ron only frowned.  
  
*  
  
There was little time to muse about Dumbledore's whereabouts, however. That night marked his first Quidditch practice. Ron swelled with pride at the thought, though he couldn't stop a few nasty thoughts creeping their way into his brain. This was it. This was what he always wanted. A chance to be known as just 'Ron Weasley', not simply as 'one of the Weasley brothers.' A chance to be his own person…what if he totally blew it?  
  
Ron tried very hard to shake these thoughts aside as he bid farewell temporarily to Hermione. She seemed to sense these thoughts, and squeezed his hand whilst planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "Good luck," she whispered.  
  
Ron felt his cheeks burn as he said a clumsy goodbye and followed an amused Harry to the field, broomstick slung over his shoulder. That was another point of agony. Ron really wished he had a better broom than Charlie's practically antique Shooting Star. But he knew too well that buying a new broomstick was out of the question, so he didn't even bother asking his parents for one. Ron sighed. He would just have to make the best out of what he had.  
  
When he and Harry reached the pitch, the rest of the team was already there. To Ron's great relief, Angelina greeted him warmly, but didn't make a fuss over the fact that he was new to the team. Even Fred and George, both of whom Ron was sure were ready to crack on him like no tomorrow, managed to keep their brotherly teasing to a minimum. And as he left for the air, Ron let out a wide grin. This was what he always wanted. Time to enjoy it.  
  
*  
  
When Ron reached Charms the next day, however, there was little to enjoy. He entered the classroom-quite cheekily, as he was hand-in-hand with Hermione-to find tiny Professor Flitwick sprawled across his chair, not moving a muscle. Like McGonagall, his eyes were closed, his lips chapped, and his skin deadly pale. It was quite a state for the usually energetic Professor.  
  
"I'll…I'll just go get Madam Pomfrey then," Hermione said, looking shaken.  
  
Ron could only nod. Whatever was going on at Hogwarts, he didn't like it.  
  
***  



	7. Memoria de Sacrum

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.  
  
A Note From The Author: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, as always. Your input is always so encouraging. And I'm sorry that this part was later than usual. I meant to finish it before I went away for Memorial Day weekend, but writer's block got the better of me. My apologies, and I hope this makes up for it. And Firoza, your suggestion of finding out what Fred, George, and Ginny chose as their objects was brilliant. (You do get to find out about Ginny in this chapter.) Unfortunately, I'm clueless as to what the twins would choose. Any ideas, anyone? Hope you all had a great long weekend and enjoy!  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
Part VII  
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Aira  
  
***  
  
"Good afternoon, class. You have, I hope, brought your special items to class?"  
  
Everyone nodded at Professor Dorson's question. Hermione noticed Lavender and Parvati giggling with one another as usual and couldn't help scowling. Leave it to them to giggle at something so serious and important. *She* had chosen a very important object and was treating the project very seriously. "Very good," came Dorson's voice, somewhat more silky than usual. "We shall begin."  
  
Hermione reached into her robe pocket to retrieve Ron's letter, which had been very carefully folded. But while she treated the matter with utmost solemnity and importance, she couldn't stop the silly grin that formed on her lips at the thought of the letter's contents. She glanced at Ron, who was clutching a letter that she knew was written by herself. The thought filled her with glowing warmth.  
  
Hermione's thoughts turned darker as her eyes fell upon her other best friend. Harry was clutching a photograph tightly, staring at it with a closed-off, hardened expression. Though the picture was blocked from Hermione's view, she knew who was in it, and her heart ached for her friend.  
  
Curiously, Hermione looked around the room, anxious to see the sorts of things her peers had chosen. For a reason she did not yet know, her eyes fell upon Neville Longbottom. He was gripping onto a photograph-sized piece of paper, and the expression he wore was strangely similar to Harry's.   
  
Frowning thoughtfully, Hermione shifted her gaze to Professor Dorson, who was just explaining the spell. "First you must place the item you have chosen into this envelope."   
  
Dorson gave a swish of her wand, and soon silver, almost glowing envelopes were on the desks of every student. Hermione carefully placed the beloved letter inside. The moment she did so, the envelope sealed itself. "Please write your name on the envelope," instructed the professor once all of her pupils had completed the first requirement.  
  
Hermione immediately pulled out a quill and did so, signing her name with great flourish. However, a few seconds after she finished, the ink seemed to dissolve into the envelope, which was now glowing more brightly than previously. Dorson continued soon thereafter. "Very good. Now, so that the power in your objects can be used effectively, please tap the envelope with your wand and say these words: Memoria de Sacrum. Mr. Potter, would you like to demonstrate?"  
  
Harry drew his wand without speaking while Hermione observed intently. He tapped his envelope with his wand and said, in a quiet yet confident tone "Memoria de Sacrum."  
  
All eyes fell upon the envelope as a golden ray of light raised from the envelope until it almost danced to the ceiling. After a moment-a beautiful moment in which the light seemed to spread through the entire classroom-the ray fizzled quickly, and soon the envelope was only glowing faintly. The class appeared confused, apparently unsure of whether that was the desired result. Professor Dorson, however, gave Harry a curt smile. "Well done, Mr. Potter," she said, though Hermione doubted that her words were entirely sincere. "You have obviously chosen an object very suitable for yourself, which will help the spell I am performing considerably…yes, Miss Granger?"  
  
For Hermione had just raised her hand and was now speaking. "Professor, how does this spell work, exactly?"  
  
Ron glared at her and muttered something about how if she wanted to ask questions like that to the history-loving Professor, could she at least do it while he wasn't around? Hermione pointedly ignored him; this was one of those occasions where her love of knowledge and desire to understand how things worked got the better of her.   
  
"An excellent question, Miss Granger," began Dorson. "It is an ancient spell which has been used for many centuries. It relies purely on memories of joy, love, and hope, which were believed to be stronger than Dark magic. Valued objects such as the ones you have chosen represent joyful memories and feelings, which, when channeled properly, can act as powerful protection. The spell that I am using is collective, which makes it all the more powerful, since there are all the more valued objects giving it strength. Once all my classes have completed this I will place an enchantment on all of the envelopes to bond them together to act as protection against any Dark magic."  
  
Hermione nodded fervently. Yes, that made sense. Joy as an antidote to darkness. Simple. Logical. She couldn't help asking another question, however. "Can it be broken?"  
  
Dorson gave her a piercing stare. There was something about that hard look that Hermione felt uncomfortable. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was there nonetheless. "No," she answered finally.  
  
"Now, class, please perform the spell."  
  
Hermione quickly drew her wand and placed it on the envelope. "Memoria de Sacrum."  
  
With that, blinding light raised from her envelope as it had from Harry's, and faded quickly after a moment of glorious luminosity. The others in class watched appreciatively, as Hermione was the first besides Harry to attempt the spell. "Well done, Miss Granger. Now, if the rest of you could please get started."  
  
For the next few moments, the room was full of golden rays. Hermione found the effect rather pleasant, though not all of her classmates created a ray as stunning as her own or Harry's. However, Hermione noted that Neville, and, to her great pleasure, Ron, had also managed to emit colossal rays. Professor Dorson seemed particularly pleased with the four of them, a fact that Hermione relished. She exited class that day beaming.  
  
*  
  
Later that night, Hermione found herself sitting by herself in the common room, as Ron and Harry were at Quidditch practice. She was working intently on her Ancient Runes essay when a quiet voice snapped her out of her working trance. "Hermione, can I ask you something?"  
  
Hermione looked up to the freckled face of Ginny Weasley, who appeared to be very deep in thought. "Of course," she answered briskly.  
  
"Well, tomorrow we have to bring in our objects for Defense Against the Dark Arts, see. And I was just wondering…do you think it's terribly juvenile and ridiculous to bring in *this*?"  
  
Ginny pulled out a sketch behind her back. It was of Harry. Like all of her other work, it was astonishingly realistic. Harry's green eyes seemed to sparkle with determination and he wore a very stoic, unemotional expression. As a piece of art, it was wonderful. But as an object to be used for the Memoria de Sacrum spell? Hermione considered for a while, until the answer to Ginny's question hit her smack on the head. "Of course not," she said. "There's nothing ridiculous about love."  
  
She had been thinking about her own sacred object while speaking, and it suddenly occurred to her that her emotional words probably would embarrass Ginny. Hermione clasped her hands to her mouth, but it was too late. Her friend had turned slightly pink, although all she said regarding the matter was a quiet "Thank you so much."  
  
As for Hermione, her own rash statement made her think. "There's nothing ridiculous about love." Rash or not, she knew it was true.  
  
*  
  
The next afternoon, Harry suggested that they visit Hagrid during the free time they had in lieu of Transfiguration. (Professor McGonagall was still sick and no one had bothered finding a substitute.) Hermione readily agreed to the plan. Ron, however, seemed almost objected to Harry's idea. He frowned. "I really don't think we should," he said in a troubled tone.  
  
Harry frowned at this. "Why not?"  
  
Here Ron frowned as well. "I don't really know myself, that's the trouble. I just…It's weird. I just get this feeling that we shouldn't."  
  
Much as Hermione cared for him, she couldn't help but roll her eyes at this strange proclamation. "What rubbish! What good reason do we have not to go?"  
  
Ron curled his lips into another thoughtful frown and shrugged. "None, I guess," he admitted sheepishly.  
  
The three began the walk to Hagrid's cabin. But still one wore a frown on his troubled face.  
  
*  
  
"Hagrid, it's us!"  
  
Harry knocked on the wooden door as he spoke. Still no answer came, and the hut felt strangely empty. "Hagrid!" he called once again, his tone growing more desperate.  
  
"He's left the door open. Maybe we should go inside," Hermione suggested, trying dreadfully to quench her own feelings of doubt. There had to be a logical explanation to this, after all. Maybe Hagrid didn't hear them. Maybe he was out. Maybe…  
  
The three stepped into the small cabin, and gave simultaneous gasps at the sight they found. Their ten-foot tall, wide-girthed friend was lying motionless on the floor, taking up a good deal of the hut's space. His eyes were closed, his lips pasted together and his skin was as white as a ghost. The only sign that Hagrid was even alive were the loud, shaky breaths that came from him.  
  
For a moment Hermione just stood there, dumbstruck by the sight in front of her. Harry and Ron stood next to her, no less dumbfounded. After what seemed like a long time, she finally tore her eyes from the body of her large friend. "I'd better go get Madam Pomfrey again," Hermione managed, her voice coming out in a squeak.  
  
She began the walk to the castle, which seemed to stretch for miles when left only with her dark thoughts and worries. When Hermione was about halfway through her journey, lost in her own concerns, she was suddenly pulled away from the reeling of her mind. For a hooded figure had just appeared from nowhere. And, before she could scream even, the cloaked body shoved a wand right up against Hermione's throat.  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: Okay, yes, I am evil. Sorry, had to do that. Please keep the tomatoes to a minimum, since I swear the next chapter will be out within the next few days. Or at least ASAP. Also, just so you know, it will *not* be told from Harry's POV. It will be either Remus' or Sirius'. (If you want, tell me in your review which you'd prefer.)  



	8. A Visit and a Ring

Disclaimer: It's all J.K. Rowling's.  
  
Author's Note: Does this qualify as 'a few days'? I hope so. Just to eliminate any confusion, this begins at about the same time that Chapter Seven does. If you review this time, please tell me how I did with Sirius' and Remus' characterizations. I'm not at all sure how they turned out, so I would really appreciate any input. Thanks to all of you who left reviews last time and please enjoy!  
  
Aftermath and Awakenings  
Part VIII  
A Harry Potter fanfic by Aira  
  
***  
  
Sirius Black glanced anxiously out the window, towards the sky, as if the owl from Dumbledore he so desperately wanted would just appear if he just looked long and hard enough. It had been nearly a week since the Headmaster had written, a far cry from the every-other-day messages Sirius had been used to receiving, informing him of Harry's well-being. With each passing day, Sirius felt the burden of concern for his godson increase to the point that it was all that he could do to maintain what was now his normal lifestyle-if life as an escaped convict could ever be considered normal, that is.  
  
Harry's safety was like a hundred-pound weight on soul that gnawed at him almost constantly. Harry was *his* responsibility. It was *his* job to take care of him. He had failed to take proper care of Harry for the past fourteen years of his life, and Sirius was determined not to let that extend any further. Not when Harry needed him the most.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by the quiet shuffling of footsteps. He glanced up to see Remus, who wore an expression that Sirius suspected was similar to his own. Worry marked his face, along with the deep shadows under his eyes that signified the troubled sleep Sirius knew they had both experienced.  
  
Breakfast was painfully void of any discussion, a fact that Sirius was both maddened by, yet oddly grateful for. He had never really been content sitting around doing nothing. In order to achieve any sort of satisfaction, Sirius had to feel as though he was doing something. This character trait had, unfortunately, had only been inflated by his time in Azkaban. After twelve years sitting in a cold, damp cell with only his thoughts for comfort, Sirius seemed to be wanting to make up for lost time by being as active as possible. Idleness tore at him, as did the terribly blank silence. At least talking would give him *something* to keep himself occupied with.  
  
On another level, Sirius was strangely gladdened by the lack of conversation. There just didn't seem to be a need for it. Remus seemed to understand what he was thinking, and voicing his concerns out loud would only add to the anxious thoughts that were already turning somersaults in his brain. The worries he shared with his friend, Sirius thought, were best expressed without words.  
  
Even as he mindlessly took a bite of his toast, Sirius' eyes kept rolling towards the sky, which was far too sunny for his mood. Why, *why*, was there no owl from Dumbledore?   
  
After several minutes of alternately eating and staring hopefully out the window, Sirius couldn't stand the tension anymore. Consequently, he did something he was very prone to: losing control. "Dammit, Remus! God knows what's happening at that school! Enough sitting around waiting!"  
  
Remus only frowned at this, although he was evidently not taken aback by Sirius' outburst. "Let's not do anything rash," he said in a tone so level and reasonable that it made Sirius want to ram his head into the nearest wall.  
  
"So we're just going to sit here and let Harry be…" Sirius had started out in an angry, demanding tone, but his voice cracked as he trailed off, not wanting to think about what he had been about to say.  
  
"Of course not," Remus' voice was still the embodiment of composure, though he too appeared to be shaken by the thought. "Look, I know what you're thinking. You're planning some outrageous scheme to get into the castle and check up on him. But you have to *think* about this, Sirius. If you go and get yourself caught, or killed, how will that help Harry?"  
  
Sirius glared, but he knew that his friend had a point. "You have to be rational about this," Remus concluded gently.  
  
"And meanwhile a hoard of Death Eaters could be entering Hogwarts."  
  
The words were spoken thoughtlessly, and Sirius winced at his carelessness. While he had contemplated the possibility to a great extent, it stung to actually hear the words spoken out loud, even when they came from his own mouth.  
  
Sirius closed his eyes in grief, and James' dead face burned into his mind. Except that suddenly, the lifeless image changed. It was Harry.  
  
*  
  
By the next morning, Sirius' feelings changed from just barely hanging on to life to being more or less possessed by his desire to see Harry and ensure that he was safe. Remus was, of course, as cool and collected as ever, but Sirius knew better than to take this at face value. He knew that, despite Remus' equanimity, his friend was almost as concerned as he was.  
  
This was proven when Remus agreed quite readily to Sirius' suggestion of Portkeying to Hogwarts to see if there was any trouble. Yesterday's lecture about ration was apparently forgotten, though he did warn Sirius that if he tried to do anything impetuous in the course of checking up on Harry, he would certainly have something to something.  
  
And several minutes later, Sirius felt a sharp gust of wind as he suddenly found himself staring up at Hogwarts.  
  
*  
  
Sirius' thoughts were of a foreboding nature as he loped through the corridors of the castle as a dog. He must have looked quite peculiar to anyone watching; a large black dog romping through Hogwarts at the side of a man was no usual sight. He only hoped that he and Remus would be able to make it to Dumbledore's study without being seen. For a moment Sirius entertained himself at the thought of what might happen if they came across Filch, who would certainly not be pleased by such a humongous dog dripping mud over his precious hallways. However, he quickly sobered himself with the thought of why he was here in the first place. To check on Harry. That was what was important.  
  
Luck was on their side for the time being, apparently. The two made it to the stone gargoyle that marked the entranceway to Dumbledore's study with no mishaps. It was exceedingly fortunate that the students were in class and didn't see their former Professor being accompanied by such an impressive-looking canine. Sirius resisted the strong impulse to take a peek inside the classrooms and look for Harry. Soon enough, Remus was saying the password, and the gargoyle sprung open.  
  
The pent-up energy that Sirius had just barely been restraining came rushing up to him at once as he entered the circular room. He gave a few barks, and rushed forward on all fours. This instigated Remus to roll his eyes, but he was feeling too good to care. All right. Now he was finally *doing* something other than waiting around anxiously. He glanced around the room eagerly, searching for Dumbledore.  
  
To his great disappointment, Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Sirius gave a low growl at this fact, which only confirmed his troubled suspicions. His heart was beating at an abnormally fast rate, his mind exploding with all of the possibilities. In fact, it was only with a second glance around the room that he noticed that he and Remus were not alone.   
  
Appearing suddenly behind Dumbledore's great desk was a woman. Tall, thin, and dirty blond, at the moment she had a superficial smile plastered on her face. "What do you want"? She snapped. Her tone held pretended cordiality that was somewhat out-weighed by impatience.  
  
"I have an appointment with the Headmaster."  
  
Remus spoke levelly, but one glance at his face told Sirius that his old friend was just as taken aback as he was. Obviously sensing danger, he had drawn his wand.  
  
"Well then," spoke the woman.  
  
That spoken, she drew her own wand like lightning, and pointed it directly at Remus. For one terrible moment, Sirius held his breath. 'No, no, no…' echoed his frantic mind. 'This can't happen.'  
  
For a few seconds that seemed to stretch out into hours, Sirius really thought that she was going to kill Remus, and his heart grew heavy with the thought. He would not let that happen. Not again. He nearly collapsed with relief when the incantation that left the woman's lips was simply "Stupefy!"  
  
Though Remus was rendered unconscious immediately, Sirius acted quickly. He speedily ran up to Remus' still body and transformed at top speed. Grabbing his friend's wand almost instantly, he pointed it at the stunned woman and performed a Stunning spell of his own.  
  
Sirius didn't even try to stop the grim yet satisfied smirk that worked its way onto his face whilst the gaping woman fell to the floor. Whoever she was, she deserved it. 'Maybe even a Death Eater…' he thought grimly.  
  
Sirius then pointed the wand at Remus, and muttered the counter-curse. His gray slowly fluttered opened as he regained consciousness and pushed himself off the floor with a sense of great confusion. "Would you mind telling me what's happening?" he questioned wearily.  
  
"Good question. Very good question."  
  
*  
  
Ten minutes later, Sirius found himself glancing down at the unconscious body of the strange woman. Remus had suggested that they examine her. To see if she carried any clues as to why she was in Dumbledore's study, why she attacked, whether she was Death Eater. Sirius had been unable to come up with a better suggestion as to what they should do at the moment, though he doubted very much that they would find anything informative.   
  
He was mistaken, however. As his eyes fell on the woman's thin hand, an odd-looking ring caught his eye. Stepping forward to inspect it further, Sirius gasped in shock. This was unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Impossible. Ludicrous. His mind flashed to a Defense Against the Dark Arts text he had read almost two decades ago. Could the supposedly legendary ring he'd read of really be on this woman's hand?  
  
Sirius motioned to Remus to look. Peering forwards for a better glimpse, his eyes widened, and he too gasped. "I thought it was a myth!" Remus said breathlessly.  
  
"I thought so, too," Sirius responded. "Apparently not."  
  
***  
  
Author's Note: I know, I know, it's rotten of me to keep you hanging like that yet again. Once again, I ask you to hold all tomatoes! I actually have a reason for the semi-cliffhanger, though: The explanations I have to do would take way too long for this chapter. I promise that *a lot* of questions you may have will be answered in the next chapter, which will hopefully be out soon. (Key word: hopefully) And FYI, the next chapter will probably be in Remus' point of view. I didn't mean to meander so much away from our favorite three, but this chapter turned out to leave a lot more loose ends than I'd originally intended. My apologies for that, and I only hope that you had as much fun reading Sirius' POV as I had writing it.  



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